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Sheila and Paul left right after our heated conversation. In my despair, I don't even try to convince them to stay. And right now, I just want some space.
My sister has been my one supporter this whole time. My one shining light since my mother's death has suddenly gone out. And without her, I'm lost.
I knew what I'd done had been bad. But she doesn't understand what it's like. Paul makes good money. They're madly in love. She'll never have to go through a divorce, through inheriting a business she never expected to have. She wasn't adopted into a childless family and will never know the pressure that comes with that to be the perfect daughter our parents didn't believe they could produce. And until today, she's been able to understand that.
I feel selfish. I feel pitiable. But I know in the reasonable part of my mind that it's counterproductive to focus on the excuses rather than the solutions. What I need to do now is to make things right for Sophia by making Tinsley's wedding a success. I can fix everything if I can survive this wedding without any hiccups.
I can fix it.
The ceremony lasts for what feels like hours.
Tinsley looks angelic in white, the train of her dress as long and flowing as an ocean wave. She walks down the sand with the biggest smile, beaming for the cameras as she clutches her father's arm. Ford is in an all-white tuxedo, which surprisingly suits him. His hair is still disheveled and sun-bleached, and the tattoos on his fingers stand out more than ever. They both perform songs to each other rather than make the traditional vows. By the end, when they finally kiss, and everyone stands to cheer for them, I cheer the loudest.
Once the reception starts, the Sugar Breeze dessert table is open for business. Tinsley's guests love the pastries and keep coming back for seconds and thirds. The wedding cake is also a hit. As the happy couple cut the cake, the crowd "oohs" and "aahs" at the ombre effect hidden inside.
Finally, after about two hours, things start to calm down. Brett, Sophia, and I are all still manning the dessert table, but most guests have already visited the bar and are now ready to let loose on the dance floor.
Sophia stands behind the dessert table and watches the dancing with me as other fathers and daughters in the crowd join. I put my arm around her, holding her close, sad she doesn't have the same opportunity as the other young girls here.
Brett taps my shoulder. As I turn to see what he wants, he leans past me and holds out his hand to Sophia.
"Can I have this dance?" he asks.
My heart swells again. I can tell Sophia is hesitating, her eyes meeting mine as if looking for permission to give her answer. I rub her shoulder to encourage her.
Finally, she shrugs and steps out of my arms. "Sure. Why not?" she says, and grabs Brett's hand.
They run out onto the floor together and start to dance. It's not quite as awkward as Tinsley and her father, but it's still not great. Unfortunately for Brett, Sophia inherited her sense of rhythm from her mother. But seeing them having fun together, playing a father and daughter pairing if only for the night, almost makes the rest of the day worthwhile.
Once the music has died down and Brett and Sophia leave the dance floor, he turns to me and puts an arm around my waist.
"Now," he says gently, "it's our turn."
"But someone has to watch the table," I start to say, but he cuts me off, looking at Sophia.
"You got this?" he asks.
"You betcha," she says, winking at him.
With Sophia's confirmation, Brett immediately pulls me out from behind the table and over to the dance floor as a slow song begins to play. Then, he takes my hand with his free one and begins to lead me in a simple waltz. It's effortless, the way we move. Like my daughter, I've never been much of a dancer. But with Brett's arms around me, my movements are suddenly graceful. Fluid. Perfect.
I giggle as he spins me and the pulls me close to his chest. "You're always so full of surprises," I whisper dreamily. "I would have never guessed you were such a good dancer."
His lips coast along the side of my ear, making me shiver. "You're only as good as your partner."
My cheeks flush pink at the memory of my drama with Sheila from earlier. If Brett only knew.
"I'm not that great, Brett," I whisper back.
He stiffens at my words, pulling back and cupping my chin so that I'm looking up at him. "Listen to me. You are fucking perfect, Denise Lawson," he insists. Then he presses his lips to mine.
After what feels like forever, he finally breaks our kiss, letting me lay my head against his chest. For the first time since the wedding started, I am in bliss. With him so close to me and concerned for me, I feel cared for. Protected.
In this moment, I don't have to be the boss. I don't have a reputation to maintain. I haven't caused any hurt or damage between us. Things with Brett are perfect.
"I know I didn't say the words earlier," I murmur, feeling his warmth through his shirt against my cheek. "But I love you too, Brett. More than I have ever loved anyone before."
And while I can't see his face, I hear his breathing change. I smile, knowing how I've affected him. Knowing how much he truly cares for me.
